CHAPTER 21: Lawful Matrimony

 

"You are a married woman, Tory. You know the law."

"Ah. Well, of course, the law . . . " Tory cast a dismayed glance at Jack, hoping Jenny would not see. She had brought Jenny back to the inn after Mrs. Swan and Miss Bishop had taken in poor Violet; Tory was damned if she would let them spend one more night under the roof of that braying harpy, Mrs. Hopworth.

"Legally, of course, a husband owns everything that belongs to his wife," Jack filled in quickly, for Tory’s benefit. "But . . . "

"Surely not!" Tory interrupted, appalled. "Not her personal things. Not income she’s earned by her own labor —"

"All her income. All of her money and possessions. Any inheritance of property or fortune she may have from her family or any previous marriage. Any sou she can lay claim to by sweat or stealth, all belongs to him," said Jenny bitterly. With a swift glance at Tory, then at Jack, she added, "Although not every husband chooses to enforce it."

Tory knew she ought to hold her tongue before her ignorance of marital matters became even more apparent.

"Even so, he can’t run riot through the houses of innocent people," Jack pointed out. "We have no legal means of recovering your things, Jenny, but we can have him up on charges of disturbing the peace."

But Jenny shook her head.

"No. I want nothing at all to do with him. Besides, charges mean nothing to him. He can buy his way out of charges."

"But if he’s such a wealthy and important man, what does he want with your few coins?" Tory wondered. "It makes no sense."

"He wants to wound me," Jenny replied quietly. "And to let me know he’s found me."

"No harm is going to come to you, Jenny,"  said Jack. "I can promise you that."

Jenny gazed up at him again with a fleeting, almost sardonic smile. "Noble words, indeed, General Rolla. And I appreciate your concern, Jack, I honestly do. But whatever it is Mr. Crowder wants, he’ll have. There’s nothing to be done about it."

Tory sat up straighter. "There’s always something to be done."

Jack scheduled a benefit night for Jenny for the following week to revive her depleted finances. She chose her parts and Jack had the bills printed up right away. Kit and Alphonse saw to their distribution all over town and talked the program up with tireless enthusiasm in the taproom of the Old Harry, where they both had lodgings. Jack campaigned among the transient mariners in every riverside grog shop, and everyone from Trot to Richard Gabriel had canvassed the rest of the neighborhood.

Jack also paid for Jenny’s lodging on account at the Tudor Inn, where a large staff was employed to keep out unwanted intruders. She had very little to bring over from Mrs. Hopworth’s to her tiny back room — some underthings, a shawl, two plain frocks. Her best frocks, her bonnet, her prettiest scent-bottles and adornments and what little in the way of novels, pamphlets and playing cards she had kept for her own amusement had all been carried off by her husband as his due property.

"How can he simply strip her of all she has and the law not call it theft?" Tory demanded of Jack that night, in bed, after they had seen Jenny safely settled in.
    
"When a woman allies herself to a husband in marriage, he becomes liable for her and all her property, so he is granted authority over her and all her property."

"Authority?" echoed Tory. "You mean she becomes his property. Like a slave."

Jack sighed and flopped over in the bed. It had been another long day at the theatre and he felt disadvantaged in this conversation, being white, male and English.

"Most marriage contracts are entered into by consent," he said. "If the parties disagree —"

"Then the wife is helpless," Tory concluded. "Whatever possesses women to marry?"
    
Jack glanced back over his shoulder at her. He could see her silhouette in the dark, still sitting up beside him, aggravating herself.

"So she might bed her husband in peace?" he suggested.

"A woman needn’t marry for that," she replied tartly, but she did not take the hint and lie down. "In the meantime, she has no protection if her husband takes it into his head to plunder everything she owns. Hellfire, pirates plunder out of desperation, to live, and they’re reviled as outlaws and hanged."

Jack sighed again. "We can’t discuss centuries of English law if you’re going to demand justice and sense."

For all her recent troubles, Jenny shone like an impudent idol on the night of her ben. Her playing was bright and spirited and her colleagues responded with their own best efforts. The house, nearly three-quarters of capacity at the start, filled up entirely for the nautical after-piece after nine o’clock, when the remaining seats were let at half-price.

The final heady ovation eventually dissipated into jovial laughter and jesting in the street as the audience spilled out of the Brewhouse. The players inside changed out of their dresses and went off about their own affairs. But Tory brought Jenny upstairs into the office, where Jack and Alphonse were already seeing to the books; Jack wanted Jenny to have her share of the profits without delay. And while it might have been mere afterglow from her exertions of the evening, Tory thought she saw new color bloom in Jenny’s face when she saw the little piles of coin Alphonse was neatening up on the desk before him, at his customary place across from Jack.

"We’ve taken in upwards of fifty pounds!" Jack beamed at her. "Remind me to put you on for more of Mrs. Fairweather’s grander parts, in future."

"I’m not made for tragedy, Jack, I’m happy with my bawds," Jenny laughed.

"You may play what you like after tonight, Madame," said Jack. "Alphonse has only to subtract the house expenses, and . . . "

A  purposeful tread on the stair silenced them all and in the next instant a stranger pushed his way in at the door. He was tall and solid and well-dressed, with flinty eyes and a sleek brown topcoat. Tory moved on instinct to Jenny’s side as Jack leaped up from the desk.

"The theatre is closed, sir," Jack exclaimed, striding forward to block the stranger’s approach. "This is a private office."

"I am here on private business," sneered the other. He brandished the golden ram’s head of his cane toward Alphonse and the coins on the desk. "Your profits, there. I have come for my share."

"You have no business in this office," Jack repeated, standing his ground, forcing the stranger to halt, as well.

"I say I have." The man nodded over his shoulder as a smaller gentleman in sober, fastidious dress, clutching a ledger book, glided in behind him. "My name is Charles Crowder and this is my solicitor, Budge." He turned again to face Jack. "It grieves me to confess that that baggage over there is my wife. As I am given to understand any profits from tonight’s entertainment are designated for her benefit, I am here to receive them."

"She is quite capable of receiving them herself," said Tory, outraged.

"But not legally authorized to do so, Miss," spoke up Mr. Budge. "if her husband wishes to intercede."

Jenny had paled again, but the tremor of her lip looked to Tory more like anger than fear. She took a step toward the intruder and he cast his narrow gaze at her for the first time.

"What do you want here, Mr. Crowder?" Jenny challenged him, her voice low.

"Only what is due me, Mrs. Crowder," he sneered again. In the brief space of time it took them to eye each other, Tory thought the air between them would freeze with mutual contempt. How could they have ever been married? In what snarling fury had they ever conceived a son?

"You may call yourself what you like," Crowder continued, "but I am still yoked to you in lawful matrimony and for that indignity, I demand my rightful compensation." He turned to stare expectantly at their profits.

"You may be within your legal rights, Mr. Crowder, but you are misinformed about the business of a theatre," Jack injected crisply. "We must deduct expenses before Mrs. Kennett can receive her share."

"Expenses?" growled Crowder, his eyes wary, but he stayed where he was as Jack moved back to the desk and his papers.

"House expenses," said Jack. "Door-keeper, charwomen and ticket-takers’ salaries. Lamp oil and candle costs. The printing for the bills."

At each example Jack ticked off, Alphonse calmly separated another few coins from his tidy piles.

"Rental of the building due the lessor after each performance," Jack continued. Alphonse separated another stack of coin.

"Insurance," Alphonse chimed in, his pen busy, "against fire and hazard."

"And of course, the compensation fund for the players too ill to perform," added Jack.

"Ah," agreed Alphonse, sliding away a few more coins.
    
Crowder frowned at them. "My solicitor shall require an accounting."    

Alphonse lifted his face, a mask of perfect innocence, and held up the page on which he was writing. Mr. Budge glanced uneasily at Crowder, than waved a dismissive hand in the air.

"And don’t forget the winch on the paint-frame."

They all turned to see Thomas Ashbrook leaning in the doorway. He must have heard the commotion from upstairs. His arms were folded across the chest of his smock and while he was not a particularly tall man, he was substantial enough to fill the little doorway. But he could not have looked more placid as he gazed into the room.

"Not stuck again, is it?" Jack responded, with sympathetic concern.

"Worse. The teeth are entirely gone with the lowering of it tonight. We’ll need a new one before we can open up again."

"That will come very dear.” Alphonse sighed, shaking his head, as he swept aside several more coins.

"You see the complications, Mr. Crowder." Jack sighed, in his turn. "As much pleasure as it would give me to turn over our entire profit to Mrs. Kennett, the grim realities of theatrical management reduce her share to . . . "

"Seventeen pounds, six shillings, two-pence," Alphonse announced, scribbling a final notation on his paper. He scooped up the appropriate coins and handed them to Jack, who carried them over to Crowder.

"Your earnings, sir," said Jack soberly.

Crowder glared at him for one moment, then made an impatient gesture to Budge, who had to scramble forward to receive this bounty.

"I hope you are satisfied?" Jack added.

"Extremely." Crowder glowered again at Jenny, then turned on his heel. He was temporarily halted again by Mr. Ashbrook, who moved out of the doorway with a polite nod and no particular haste, and in the next moment, both Crowder and his solicitor could be heard marching down the stairs. Ashbrook continued to stand just outside the door, watching their descent, and when they all heard the street door wheeze open and shut, he nodded to Jack.

"How much is left after legitimate expenses?" Jack asked Alphonse, tersely.

"About fifteen pounds."

"Give Jenny twenty," Jack sighed, raking back his hair. "Write whatever you need to in the books, we’ll find the difference somewhere."

Alphonse did not choose this moment to dispute Jack’s business skills, but quietly counted out the money.

"Jack, you needn’t . . . " Jenny began.

"Take it," Tory and Jack said, together.

"I feel a fraud," Jenny murmured as a smile blossomed in her odd eyes, "when the performance of the evening has just taken place in this room."

She turned to thank Mr. Ashbrook, but the scene-painter had already disappeared back up into his rafters.

 

Top: C. E. Brock, illustration from Pride and Prejudice, 1895 edition
Above: Regency solicitor, Michel Martin Drolling 1819.